


Ahead Lies the Abyss

by mournblade17



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Awkward Conversations, Gen, Implied/Referenced Drug Addiction, Late Night Conversations, Lyrium Addiction, Lyrium Withdrawal, Mage Rebellion (Dragon Age), Mage-Templar War (Dragon Age)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-08
Updated: 2020-09-08
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:27:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26361154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mournblade17/pseuds/mournblade17
Summary: Skyhold is impressive, but it also has an impressive number of stairs. And some very interesting people living inside its walls and towers, many of whom have previous relations to the Champion of Kirkwall. For some reason unknown to him, he's been compelled to speak with some of these people, perhaps to put some demons of his own creation to rest within his mind. Where will these conversations take  him? Will he manage to speak to all of these individuals before the Inquisition marches upon Adamant Fortress and he will face yet another crossroads of fate? Will all the damned stairs in Skyhold kill him before he even has a chance to introduce the Inquisitor to his Warden friend? And who is that strange boy with the ugly hat, anyway?
Relationships: implied Anders/Male Hawke
Kudos: 8





	Ahead Lies the Abyss

Skyhold's thin air was driving him utterly mad. All the damned stairs only served to confound the issue, and by the time Garrett had made it to what he'd heard was the office of the Inquisition's Commander, he was entirely out of breath. With attempted gusto, Hawke threw his shoulder against the door, and bounced off. Evidently the tedious repairs hadn't quite made it to this portion of the keep; the door latch was catching. He fought the temptation to simply blast the door into utter oblivion and tugged it towards him before pushing through once more. "Andraste's boil-ridden ass, you'd expect a little pride in craftsmanship around here with..."

His words shriveled and died in his mouth. The entire office looked as if it had undergone a ransacking that would make Isabela blush. Books and parchment had fallen from the commander's sturdy desk, joined by broken quills and inkwells. In the center of the wanton destruction stood Rutherford himself, his hands resting upon the desktop, eyes fixed on the single remaining object on the wooden surface. 

Silence stretched and distorted uncomfortably around both men, Hawke's gaze boring into the untidy nest of curls that sat atop Cullen's head. Bowed, almost as if he were waiting for the unseen axe of an executioner to separate it from his body. It was a grim thought, and unpleasant, but considering the gravity of the stare that Cullen was offering his old templar's kit...

Wind shifted some of the fallen parchment, ripping Hawke from his gruesome reverie. Grimacing, he stepped back out of the doorway, but froze in place as Cullen's drawn face angled itself up towards him. All sense of mischief died with the anger and desperation Hawke absorbed in that single glance, and before he could regroup and reorient his angle of attack, he found himself crossing the cold stone floor, ineffectual words trying to force themselves out of his mouth. 

Mercifully, Rutherford beat him to the punch. "If I'd known that I would have company, I would have made sure to greet you with a drawn knife at the very least." Sarcasm, that was good. Probably. His recollections of the templar Rutherford had been in Kirkwall seemed to avoid the notion of sarcasm entirely, but considering their mutual disdain for one another, it was possible that he'd simply never been offered a glance at the knight-captain. 

"You never know, Commander. Maybe I'm into knives." It was a stupid thing to say, and it felt almost too flippant, but it seemed to take the edge out of Cullen's eyes. Hawke shifted his weight uncomfortably, all too aware that his decision not to shut the door seemed to be making the mess in the office even worse. "But regardless, this is a conversation that can wait until another time."

"No." Garrett blinked. He hadn't noticed before that Rutherford's voice was so tired, so worn. Still, the firmness was present, and he could see Cullen gathering himself to stand a bit straighter, to try and look him in the eye. 

"No?" he echoed, brows raised in confused disbelief. 

"No. Well, in a way, yes. Whatever asinine question or debate you were going to bring to me can wait, but I do have questions for you." There were dark circles under the Commander's eyes, circles that had been present in Kirkwall, but never quite so heavy. Feeling his unease shift and bubble, Hawke righted one of the chairs he found upturned, and straddled it wordlessly. 

It was a relief that Cullen actually snorted at the action. The commander paced around his own desk before leaning against it. Hawke found Cullen's gaze to be oddly relieved, as if his unexpected presence were an oasis in a brutal desert. But with that lyrium kit sitting open but untouched on the desk, perhaps he was providing some strange respite. 

Cullen stared at him for a few more long moments, and Garrett felt himself squirming under the intensity of the stare. Just when he thought he couldn't take another second, Cullen sighed, and hung his head. The commander twisted his hands together, and offered another smaller sigh. "Asking you for any insight has to be the single most foolish thing I've ever considered." 

"Oh, well. That goes without saying." Hawke winced at the glare he received, and offered a rueful grin in return.

"You. You, and Varric, when you brought that... that thing up from the Deeproads." Rutherford's face contorted, and Hawke felt himself shift a little with it. There was disgust and anger in that expression, certainly, but the bulk of it was comprised of fear. As adversarial as their relationship had been back when he called Kirkwall his home, it was unpleasant to see yet another individual touched by the aftershocks of the accursed Deeproads expedition. 

"You mean the lyrium idol." Despite the jumble of emotions vying for control in his gut, Hawke's voice somehow stayed level. Cullen nodded, and Hawke waited for the question to finally come, so that he might offer some real answers to this fellow refugee from the horrors that he had unwittingly brought upon Kirkwall. 

"Did you have any inkling of how much damage it could do? Any at all?"

Ah. A fair question, but one that Hawke had asked himself all too many times. It deserved a straight answer, but he was loathe to offer it to just anyone... but. But the Commander of the Inquisition wasn't just anyone. And he'd been there, when the lyrium had come alive and-- eugh. No. There were some memories it was better to leave unvisited. Garrett pursed his lips. 

"It had... an effect. Nothing that we understood, of course, or else we would have never allowed it to make it into Meredith's hands. You understand that, don't you? It wasn't ever intentional." 

Their eyes met, and Hawke felt himself bracing for another round of yelling. The first had been weeks ago, the second mere hours past, but he wasn't sure if he could make it through a third round of "insight" into his personal shortcomings. But Cullen nodded, and offered a small gesture that indicated Hawke ought to continue with his story.

"Dwarves are supposed to be immune to lyrium, but you know what happened to Varric's brother, Bartrand. It drove him mad. His mansion was practically possessed, but it was just the influence of the idol. Like the statues Meredith called to her when..."

"When she finally showed just how depraved she was, yes." Cullen's gaze was distant, fixed on something only he could see. Hawke had an inkling that he was revisiting that moment when the lyrium blade shattered and Meredith's body-- he shook himself, practically leaping to his feet in disgust to keep the moment from cycling over and over through his mind. "We never found out exactly how it came to be in her hands."

Hawke offered a single shouldered shrug. "Positions of power don't exactly demand the most transparency, do they? I mean, my Championhood kept me quite safe from the threat of your templars dragging me into the Circle."

"Your estate did that first. And it provided safety to the apostate that started this entire conflict to begin with."

Somehow it always came back to Anders. And while that was fair, it was far more personally painful than Hawke would ever want to admit to Cullen Rutherford. He opened his mouth to protest, but Rutherford beat him to it, waving a dismissive hand weakly. "But that isn't the point. The point is that Meredith... opened more than a few eyes that day. Not just to the extent to which we had misinterpreted and abused our vows, but to the dangers that were lurking just an expedition or two away." The Commander lifted his head, offering a wan smile, and Hawke felt almost compelled to mirror it. 

"That rings fairly true, Commander, but is that really the point of this line of questioning? I can't help but wonder if you have some ulterior motives here." 

To his astonished delight, Cullen actually laughed. "Oh no, all ulterior motives went out the window when the Divine's conclave ended as it did. Cassandra had hoped to co-opt you from a symbol of the mage's resistance to a symbol of unity. One that we all knew had capability. But evidently you and Varric..."

"I'm not a man who ought to be seen as a holy emblem... well, you know. I'm the sort people can rally around, but I don't want that." 

Cullen's eyes narrowed into thoughtful scrutiny, and Garrett fidgeted. He'd already knocked the chair back over, but he felt the need to move, to give himself the chance to flee from the templar's grasp if he really needed to. "Shall we walk, Commander? I hear it does wonders for the digestion."

"I didn't eat. But... some air would do me good. A chance to inspect the watch as well." The palpable relief wasn't lost upon Hawke, and nor was the almost guilty glance Cullen offered to the lyrium kit still laying open upon his desk. But they passed it without incident, and then passed through the heavy doorframe into the inky night. 

It was frigid. Hawke envied the commander his layers, and made a mental note to ask after some of the inquisition's tailors. The various soldiers and spies scattered along the fortress's ramparts all stopped their conversations or work to toss the Commander salutes, and to his surprise, Cullen often paused to inquire after injuries, family, even the occasional pet. Compared to how Hawke had found him in his study, Rutherford almost looked at ease, the only sign of his mental disarray the heavy bags that hung beneath his eyes. 

He trailed the other man in respectful silence, only breaking it to offer the odd handful of words to the soldiers that actually saw fit to speak to him. Most ignored him completely, choosing instead to drink of their Commander's brief attention and then return to their tasks. 

For once, he wasn't the legend. 

It was a very odd revelation to grapple with, especially in the gelid, thin air. But as they approached an empty parapet, Hawke thought he might like being viewed with more disregard than with the disdain that notoriety so often brought. It was comforting to be able to be ignored, to not be seen as a threat or a menace to whatever pre-existing structure of command or infamy already existed. 

Cullen settled into place alongside the crenelated edge of the battlements, staring out across the jagged edges of the Frostbacks. Hawke stared out as well, noting the signs of more pilgrims along the treacherous paths, the lights of their torches and lanterns all they had as a barrier between their next step and a painful death among the sharp crags of the mountains. His own trip to the great fortress had been relatively uneventful, but he'd made sure to answer Varric's summons before the choking cloak of winter could really settle itself upon the Frostback's shoulders.

"Some of them came from Kirkwall, like me. Or, well. Like us." Cullen's voice was much like his gaze, distant and a little unfocused. He seemed somehow brittle to Hawke, as if he was moving back away from the confident and comfortable commander that he'd just been to his troops, towards the terrified knight-captain he had been on the dreadful day when Meredith Stannard shattered the fragile balance between templar and mage. 

Hawke rested an elbow on the stones, and cupped his chin his hands, watching as the stream of lights that twinkled through the mountains slowly trickled towards Skyhold's gate. "It's hard not to look for some vestige of hope when something like the fall of Kirkwall, or... the Circles, I suppose."

"It is rather easy, isn't it? Look at how readily the people lifted the Inquisitor up on their shoulders. All of the Inquisition, really. But if we hadn't had our figurehead, would we be here? Would we have even managed to hold against Corypheus?"

Hawke tore his gaze from Cullen and looked up at the great tower that housed the Inquisitor. There was a very soft light emanating from the balcony, but no indication that the individual housed within could sense that they were the topic of yet another conversation. Reassuring to know that time after time, heroes and champions were just people after all. Still... some managed to come across as more collected than others.

"If I know people, and I like to think I do... someone would have risen up to take the burden of this battle. Maybe it would be a lost cause without that... what have you taken to calling it, the Anchor on their hand? But that doesn't change that they would have tried. That's the magic of this whole endeavor, isn't it? The fact that people keep getting up and trying even when a magister we thought was dead rises from yet another grave?"

Hawke looked back to Cullen, and found to his surprise that the other man was studying him intently. After a tense moment, Rutherford shifted his weight, and looked back to the spires of the Frostbacks. "I quit taking my measure of lyrium when Meredith... died."

That explained quite a bit of the whirlwind disarray he'd been standing in when Hawke had shoved his way into the Commander's quarters. Hawke had seen templars cut off from their source before in Kirkwall, withering as they spent all their coin on lyrium as opposed to food, shelter, even clean water. The Inquistion's Commander didn't appear to be withering, but having known the man in Kirkwall, Hawke was convinced that the desperation of addiction would break against the principled stupidity of Cullen's stubborn pride. 

He'd seen men and women like that before, people who suddenly dropped the drink and, despite all odds, turned their lives around. More often than not though, it wasn't just their decision; the community bolstered them in their time of trial and pain and helped to ease the pains of withdrawl. Anders had helped many Ferelden refugees who turned to drink or other substances to blur the horrors of the Blight from their mind, and then discovered that it was blurring less horrible moments equally well. 

Obviously, the Inquisition's Commander was in need of some manner of support, but had no idea where to ask for it. Sister Leliana, perhaps? It would make sense; their shared faith would likely ease the burden and pain that Cullen had signed himself on for. Lady Montilyet did not seem to be a likely candidate... and nor did the Nightingale, truth be told. 

But Hawke was not a part of this Inquisition. He wasn't even certain if he counted among Commander Cullen's friends. He was not the support that was needed, yet Cullen spoke candidly about his situation. Perhaps, if Kirkwall had not been in such a precarious situation... Garrett turned his gaze once more to Cullen, and saw the full military weight of the inquisition. A blink, and the commander was just a man again, and a tired one at that. It made him wonder what it was that people saw when they viewed him. Surely nothing as grand as what Varric had pieced together, but if the descriptions of Seeker Pentaghast's admiration of the Champion were not exaggerated...

"It really isn't easy being part of something already viewed as a legend, is it?" Hawke wasn't certain what brought the words to his mouth, but he was gratified to see that they made Cullen chuckle. 

"It most certainly isn't. It's incredible that the Inquisitor manages it so well, isn't it?"

"To your knowledge, at least."

Cullen sighed. "True enough. I feel as if there's something buried in there. Just come out and say it."

Hawke rested a hand on the top stone of one of the crenelations, avoiding Cullen's gaze. "You ought to find someone less transient to speak to about this. If you're asking for the Inquisitor's trust in you, perhaps you ought to allow her to know your present predicament."

He was met with an icy silence. Hawke kept his eyes on the distant twinkling of the stars, looking for any recognizable constellations that Fenris had once told him the Tevinter names for, and Merrill the elven names. They'd commented once that the similarity in the origin tales for both cultures seemed to be a striking coincidence, but with the rumors swirling around about Corypheus, the nature of the strange orb he'd used... maybe it had been less coincidental than they'd thought. Than it had appeared. 

Finally, Cullen stood back up, and Garrett turned to face him. "It pains me to admit this, Hawke, but you're right. I'll have to speak to the Inquisitor about this... and perhaps try to impress upon her the need to find a replacement should--"

"I said talk to her, not to overthink how this could seem. You and yours rely on her to act as your figurehead, and she relies upon you. I see no reason why you'd need to defer to another's judgement, Commander. The only real loss you've suffered was at Haven, and the recovery you've manged is miraculous."

"Right. Well, it's late, and I've reports I need to... recover. It may be best for me to consider this at a different hour." Hawke knew it was a dismissal based in discomfort, but he welcomed it. Despite their shared experience, a conversation like this, with such candor? It was uncomfortable, bordering on unpleasant. Hawke wasn't sure he would ever be able to see Cullen as anything but a brutal suppressor of mages, and Cullen likely saw him as a dangerous rebel. Not entirely untrue, all things considered. 

Garrett offered the Commander a nod. "Have a good evening, then. Assuming you ever actually rest." Cullen scoffed and started to walk back along the ramparts, offering the same warmth to his men as he passed them once more. Strange, how differently a person could behave, when he was doing so for the good of others. 

"Grinding, scraping, pins along the arms. It hurts, but it's worse to go back to it. The smell of the salt, and blood, and she falters as our onslaught finally brings her to her knees. Terrible silence and then the screaming starts and stops all at once. But it sings. He can still hear it singing."

Hawke had never been so startled before in his life. Hair standing on end, he stared at the young man seated between where he and Cullen had been standing, legs dangling over the impossibly high drop from Skyhold's walls. He was lanky, ill formed, almost malnourished looking, but tall. A wide brim of a hat obscured most of the boy's face, and Garrett found himself strangely relieved to be saved from the eyes that belonged to the owner of that voice. He wasn't sure he could face whatever he would find in their depths. 

"Are you talking about... Cullen?"

The boy kicked his booted feet gently, before the massive expanse of his strange hat moved a little. Just a hair. "Yes."

"And about Meredith? About the lyrium?"

"Yes. It hurts him, just like it hurts you."

Hawke felt the hair on his arms stand on end. He'd wanted to flee from Cullen before, and quite nearly had, but this was different. This stranger had him rooted to the spot, despite every bit of training his father had given him telling him to put as much distance between them as he could, or to strike before the demon could. "How do you know that?"

"I listen to the pain, and I make it leave. It would have been better if something like that happened, before he was so angry. Varric felt the anger too, but he thought you would take it out of him. Sometimes he wonders why you can't just be angry like that."

It always came back to bloody Anders. Hawke opened his mouth to reply, when the strangest sensation washed over him. Why was he thinking of Anders? He'd put the other mage out of his mind before coming to Skyhold, to the Inquisition's aid. Anders had no place within his thoughts. And hadn't he been talking to someone after Cullen? It was unpleasant to consider his mind wandering so, but the journey had been rather rushed. He was tired...

Uncomfortable but aware of his exhaustion, Garrett pushed himself away from where he leaned, and started the journey back to the room the inquisition's forces had found for him. His mind swirled with the past, with lyrium, with the strange thought that he should talk to Varric again about everything that had transpired in Kirkwall during those seven years he'd lived there. 

He was relieved to find that when he finally slept, the vortex of thoughts finally settled itself away, and he was free to deal only with the difficulties of the Fade.

**Author's Note:**

> A discussion about Cullen's lack of seen conversation with Kirkwall's Champion produced this work, but as it went forward, more potential conversations came to mind. The closure of Hawke's story is anything but certain, but considering Hawke's position in the creation of the present state of Thedas, it seemed worthwhile to explore his potential relationship with other collaborators of the Inquisition. Kudos always appreciated.


End file.
